


how do i get you alone

by iciousvay



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Diego's not into it, Flirting, Intercrural Sex, Klaus is a brat, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Teasing, until he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iciousvay/pseuds/iciousvay
Summary: “All I’m saying,” Klaus is saying, “is I’m still offended.”Diego has only been half-listening, and Klaus only makes complete sense at the best of times, so he’s sort of lost. “Offended?” he repeats through a mouthful of bran. “About what?”Klaus’ face lights up, like he wasn’t actually expecting Diego to take the bait.“You.” And here, he points the butter knife he was using to overload his toast with jam in Diego’s direction, a move that is both ballsy and incredibly stupid, which is actually pretty on-brand for Klaus. “You said you wouldn’t date me.”“I wouldn’t,” Diego says matter-of-factly. “Like I said, you’d be the last person I would date.”





	how do i get you alone

It’s a normal morning in the post-apocalyptic Hargreeves household.

Luther and Allison are absent, which wasn’t unusual when they were kids and certainly isn’t unusual now. Vanya is around, somewhere, but she never joins them for breakfast because she’s still a little embarrassed about the whole almost-killing-Allison-and-ending-the-world thing. They’ve all forgiven her, but she was always one to brood. (And everyone always says _Diego_ is the angsty one. As _if_.)

Five is sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his feet where they’re too short to touch the floor. He has a piece of buttered toast in his right hand and a margarita in his left, complete with an extravagant hot pink curly straw. Diego is sort of concerned about the effects of this much tequila on a teenage body, but not concerned enough to actually try to come between Five and his booze. He has resigned himself to a bowl of cereal and is trying very hard both not to miss Mom’s smiley-face pancakes and to ignore Klaus. Both are proving rather impossible.

“All I’m saying,” Klaus is saying, “is I’m still offended.”

Diego has only been half-listening, and Klaus only makes complete sense at the best of times, so he’s sort of lost. “Offended?” he repeats through a mouthful of bran. “About what?”

Klaus’ face lights up, like he wasn’t actually expecting Diego to take the bait.

“You.” And here, he points the butter knife he was using to overload his toast with jam in Diego’s direction, a move that is both ballsy and incredibly stupid, which is actually pretty on-brand for Klaus. “You said you wouldn’t date me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Diego says matter-of-factly. “Like I said, you’d be the last person I would date.”

“That’s incredibly rude,” Klaus says. “I’d date you.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. We’d kill each other.”

“Maybe I’m into that,” Klaus purrs, which is nonsensical but somehow pretty believable.

“Haven’t you had enough of the death stuff?” Diego asks. It’s pretty insensitive, but it’s also early, and Diego doesn’t function right even at the best of times. “Go date one of your ghosts if that’s what you’re into.”

“Maybe I will,” Klaus says, sounding every bit as stubborn and bratty as he did when they were just kids. “Ben would date me.”

And then he makes a face that indicates Ben very much said he absolutely would not.

“Traitor,” Klaus says, as if to himself. It never gets less weird, watching him talk to their dead brother, but it’s kind of nice, too. Diego grins in the direction he thinks Ben probably is and gets goosebumps when something cold and invisible brushes against his arm. It might be coincidence, because Diego doesn’t think Ben has the power to make himself corporeal without Klaus’ help, but it also wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

Klaus takes a bite of his toast and talks around it. “I’m not interested in dating, anyway.”

He knows exactly what Klaus is angling for here. He’s not going to fall for it.

“What are you interested in, then?” his stupid traitorous mouth asks.

Klaus swallows the mouthful, then smiles very slowly, licking his lips. “Thank you for asking,” he says. His voice is smoother than it has any right to be. “I am interested in getting fucked.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t fuck you,” Diego says, sounding indignant even to his own ears. “Not even if you were the last person on earth.”

Five lifts his head at that, straw still clenched between his teeth. “Don’t be so quick to assume what you would do if the world ended,” he says, sounding both haunted and slurred. His voice is faraway but his eyes are sharp, staring at Diego intently. Diego doesn’t think he’s been listening to the conversation, but he’s got some sort of psychic ear for apocalypse talk.

Klaus snorts a laugh. “Yeah, Diego,” he mocks, fluttering his freakishly long eyelashes. “Stranger things have happened. I mean, our dear brother here has most definitely fucked a mannequin.”

Five’s strange icy eyes zero in on Klaus. “Dolores,” he says through gritted teeth, “is not a mannequin.”

Klaus makes no effort to stop smiling. “A thousand apologies,” he says, very unapologetically. “But I have to ask. Did she come with a… you know.” He steepled his fingers into a triangle then gestured at his own crotch, crudely miming a vagina. “Or did you have to saw one in yourself?”

Five’s fist tightens on his glass.

“Cause, like. If you did your own dirty work, I applaud you. Can’t imagine there was a lot of sandpaper lying around to smooth things down.” A vaguely horrified expression crosses Klaus’ face. “Wait. You _did_ sand it down, right?” He glances down at Five’s lap. “Dude, do you even have anything left down there, or did Delores shred it to bits?”

There’s a weird whoosh of air and a pulse of purplish light, and then Five is across the room and shoving Klaus against the wall in one smooth movement, white teeth bared ferociously. “Talk about her again,” he says, “and I will kill you.” His voice is dangerous, deeper than it should be. Klaus raises his hands as if in surrender. Diego sighs, fishing a knife out from behind his back. He’s either going to have to break up a fight or threaten Klaus into silence, and either way he’s gonna need to be armed.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Klaus says, smiling like he doesn’t have the faintest clue that Five can and will rip his throat out. “I’m not judging! I think it’s impressive. Really! Very IKEA of you, to build your own woman like that. I just hope you cleaned her once in a while. Can’t imagine what happens to plastic when it’s full of —”

Diego manages to get to Five before he can reach for Klaus’ throat, but just barely. “Never know when to shut up, do you?” he grits out, fighting Five, who is writhing against him with a surprising amount of vicious strength.

“Not one of my strong suits,” Klaus admits breezily. He reaches across Five, ignoring the way Five snaps his teeth, and pats Diego’s cheek. “Come find me when you’ve put the baby to bed, will you? We can continue our conversation then.”

“It wasn’t a conversation,” Diego says, but he’s distracted by the way Five is trying very hard to dislocate his shoulders. “I said everything that needed to be said.”

“There’s always more that needs to be said,” Klaus tells him sagely, and then he winks, and then he walks away, fur-trimmed robe flowing dramatically behind him.

* * *

 

Most of the time, when Klaus doesn’t finish something, it stays unfinished. Unless, of course, that something is a joint or a pill or some fruity mixed drink — but as far as Diego knows, Klaus is pretty much sober these days. He’s just flighty as fuck. So Diego is mostly sure Klaus will forget about it, and that will be that.

Except that now it’s nearing midnight and Klaus floats into Diego’s room like a particularly flamboyant ghost, perching on the edge of Diego’s childhood desk. He’s going to redecorate eventually, when he finally admits he doesn’t intend to return to the boxing ring basement.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” Diego snaps at him.

Klaus raises his eyebrows. “Why should I?” he asks. “Are you doing something naughty?”

Diego doesn’t know how to answer that. He’s _not_ doing anything naughty, but Klaus isn’t the kind of guy to take his word on something like that. He takes his hands out from under the covers, showing them front and back to Klaus, a flat look on his face. Klaus hums, then slides off the desk and comes to sit on the edge of the bed as if it was an invitation.

“So,” he says.

Diego waits, but he doesn’t say anything else. “So?”

Klaus smiles. “We have something to discuss.”

Diego realizes all at once where this is going. He groans, falling back against the pillows, tossing an arm over his eyes. “I’m too tired for this.”

He can’t see Klaus leering at him, but he can feel it. “You’re too tired for sex?”

“I’m too tired to even _talk_ about sex,” Diego mutters, which is partly true. This conversation is getting sort of exhausting. He already said he would never fuck Klaus, and he meant it. Diego is a man of his word, and he doesn’t like reevaluating his viewpoints except under extreme duress.

The way Klaus’ sharp hipbones peek out from between his cropped shirt and tight jeans might count as extreme duress, and Diego is just not prepared for that at all.

“Oh, come on,” Klaus goads, prodding Diego’s side. “We don’t have to talk about that. We can be normal people for a change and talk about…” He pauses, as if he’s thinking. “The weather.”

“The weather,” Diego repeats flatly, taking his arm away from his face so Klaus can see his unimpressed expression.

Klaus, of course, does not seem to notice. He’s almost smiling, a little quirk of a grin fighting the corner of his mouth. “The weather,” he agrees. “It’s been nice out lately.”

“It rained all day,” Diego says.

“I like the rain,” Klaus says back.

Diego kind of remembers that. Klaus had been scared of thunderstorms for a long time when they were kids, and then Dad locked him in that mausoleum and he had realized there were bigger things to be afraid of. He didn’t mind the rain so much after that. He would sit on his bed and stare at the way it pounded the window, and he could only be coaxed out by Mom or Ben or Vanya. Diego probably could have made him come out — most likely by force — but he’d never found a reason to. Klaus had liked the rain, and Diego had liked anything that made Klaus look a little less haunted.

Klaus doesn’t look so bad these days, but that’s probably because he’s taking pretty regular showers and Alison let him steal her kohl eyeliner, the kind that never smears, so he looks less like a prostitute and more like… well, like a pretty man wearing eyeliner. Diego would feel weird about admitting (even to himself) that Klaus is pretty except that he _is_ , just like Luther is strong and Vanya is shy and Ben is dead. It’s just one of those things. No reason to think too hard about it.

Klaus is starting to smile, and Diego realizes he’s been staring. It’s such a bad idea to give Klaus ammo like that because he will _never_ let it go, but Klaus doesn’t mention it. He just winks at Diego, pats his hand, and stands up.

“I’ll let you sleep, since you’re _so_ tired.” He grins again, like it’s funny, like they’re sharing a private joke. Diego has no idea how Klaus’ head works most of the time, and he’s not really interested in figuring it out this late in life. He just gives Klaus a half-hearted wave, and then yells at Klaus for not shutting the door, muttering angrily to himself when he hears Klaus’ tinkering laugh disappearing down the hallway.

He gets up to shut and lock the door, and then crawls back into bed. He assumes he’ll fall asleep fast, because he really _is_ tired, but he doesn’t. He thinks about Klaus without meaning to, and doesn’t even have the energy to be annoyed about it. He just resigns himself to it, thinking about Klaus’ dark eyelashes and tight pants and pale exposed skin until he falls asleep.

And then he dreams.

* * *

It’s still raining when Diego wakes up, which makes it even harder to separate dream from reality. Everything’s gray-tinted and hazy, and he half-expects someone to be in bed with him when he cracks his eyes open.

No one is, of course. Which is good, all things considered. Still, Diego spares half a second to be disappointed by that. The dream was nice. Warm. Claustrophobic, almost, in a good way — the way it is when someone is on top of him, with all that weight and pressure and heat. That was part of the dream, he thinks. Dark curly hair and a plush red mouth and long legs straddled over Diego’s hips.

He’s half-hard, but he doesn’t do anything about it. It feels different, in the light of day. He can’t control his dreams, but he can control his hands, his body. Diego is nothing if not carefully controlled. He rolls out of bed onto the floor and does about a thousand crunches until all he can think about is the way his stomach burns. Focusing on something real drives the dream out of his head, and he’s feeling much more cheerful when he finally gets dressed and goes down to breakfast.

Most of the others are already awake. Even Klaus, who usually takes about a million years to get ready, even on days like today when all he’s wearing is a pair of soft-looking flowy pants and something sheer draped over his shoulders. Diego thinks maybe it’s called a kimono, and then realizes Klaus has gotten inside his head way more than he already feared.

He makes himself a cup of coffee, grunting when Allison tries to greet him. She looks at him, amused, but otherwise leaves him alone. Five nods a greeting, and Klaus smirks at him in a way that makes him duck his head down and avoid further eye contact.

Which, of course, does not deter Klaus in the least. “I have a question,” he announces loudly. Diego is already having a pretty bad morning, and he has a sneaking suspicion it’s only about to get worse.

“No,” Allison says. She reaches around Diego for the milk without taking her stern eyes off of Klaus in the way only a mom could. “You’re not allowed to borrow my clothes anymore. You stretched out my favorite crop top.”

Klaus looks personally offended. “Luther must have a secret, then, because there is _no way_ these bird shoulders are stretching out _anything_.” He slides the strange silky fabric down one arm to expose a hollow collarbone and rounded shoulder blade. Diego looks without meaning to, and then punishes himself with a mouthful of coffee that hasn’t cooled down.

“Still doesn’t mean I want you stealing my things,” Allison says.

Klaus purses his lips. “We’ll discuss this later,” he says, as if it’s a discussion at all and not a firm _no._ “Besides. That wasn’t my question.”

“Then ask the question,” Five snaps, glowering into his coffee like always. It’s basically part of his morning routine at this point.

Klaus blinks at him. “Not with that attitude,” he says, wagging his finger in Five’s direction like Five is a misbehaving child who needs reprimanding.

There’s something almost funny about watching Five’s baby face age fifty years whenever he talks to Klaus. “Ask the damn question,” he grits out slowly, through bared teeth.

Klaus rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. “Fine! You don’t have to be so impatient about it.” Diego watches Five clench his hand up into a fist and wonders, not for the first time, if he’s going to have to break up a fight before he’s even fully awake. God, those two are worse than he and Luther ever were.

Speak of the Devil. Luther ambles into the kitchen just then, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the doorframe. He mutters good morning to Allison and tips his head in Diego’s direction, then goes about stirring a disgusting amount of cream into the coffee mug Allison hands him.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” Klaus says, beaming at Luther. “I was just about to ask if having sex with you counts as sleeping with a furry.”

Luther, who has just begun to take a sip of his sickeningly sweet coffee, proceeds to spit it out all over the kitchen counter.

“Klaus!” Allison reprimands sharply, thwacking Luther on the back.

Five sighs. “That’s my cue,” he says, and then disappears into a purple flash.

“It’s a valid question,” Klaus says earnestly. “The people deserve to know.”

Luther hasn’t caught his breath yet, but he looks red and splotchy the way he always does when a meltdown is imminent. Diego wants to be as far from that impending disaster as possible, so he drains his still-steaming coffee and stands up. He sees Klaus open his mouth again and, without thinking, he crosses around the table and takes Klaus by the wrist, yanking him from the room. Klaus doesn’t fight him, which he somehow both does and does not expect.

“You’re an idiot,” he says under his breath when they’re alone in the hallway.

Klaus grins at him. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to know.”

“I actually don’t.” Diego realizes he’s still holding Klaus by the wrist and releases him. “What’s your obsession with our sex lives anyway?”

Klaus gives a startled laugh. “You think I’m obsessed with Luther’s sex life? There’s not a lot to be obsessed with there.”

“Not just Luther’s,” Diego says. “You’re obsessed with mine, too.”

“Not much there, either,” Klaus says. Before Diego can be offended by that, he adds, “Which I absolutely do not understand. You’re, like, a total babe. Bonafide fox. Sex on legs. Luther’s total lack of game makes sense as soon as he takes off his shirt, but when _you_ take off your shirt, it’s like, wow. How do people keep their hands off, you know?"

No, Diego does not know. He has no idea what the fuck they’re talking about anymore. “How much Kahlua did you spike your coffee with this morning?” he mutters.

Klaus laughs. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “I am _painfully_ sober right now.” He pauses and then, as if to prove it, says, “Ben says hi.”

Yup, that’s never gonna be less weird. “Hi, Ben,” Diego says, sounding almost as awkward as he feels.

“He also thinks you’re hot,” Klaus adds, then his eyes go unfocused, looking somewhere over Diego’s shoulder. “Okay, those might not be his _exact_ words.”

Diego almost smiles. “Yeah? What did he say, exactly?”

Klaus waves his hand flippantly. “He’s judging me for calling you hot. Basically the same thing.”

Now Diego kind of wants to laugh, mostly because of the utterly dismissive look on Klaus’ face. “I don’t think that’s the same thing at all.”

“He also says,” Klaus continues without acknowledging Diego, “that it’s not nearly as weird as whatever Luther and Allison have going on, so he’s willing to look past it.”

Diego makes a face. It’s an unspoken family rule that no one mentions whatever it is that’s been happening between Allison and Luther since they were kids. Leave it to Ben to be the only one brave enough to bring it up. Then again, it’s not like _he_ has to worry about Luther going apeshit.

“Is Ben around all the time?” Diego asks. He’s wondered for awhile, but it never felt like the right time to bring it up.

Klaus shrugs. “For the most part. Unless I’m fucked up.”

“Can he choose when he comes and goes?”

Klaus shares a look with the unoccupied space behind Diego again. “Not when I’m this sober. And not when I’m in the house. He’s stronger here.” He pauses, considering. “Sometimes if I’m really distracted or tired, he goes away. But otherwise, it’s the Klaus and Ben Show.”

That sounds objectively awful. Diego loves his siblings, but the idea of being stuck with any one of them for longer than a few minutes makes him feel like scratching his own eyes out. “And that’s why you get high.”

Klaus shrugs. “Not because of Ben specifically. I don’t mind having Ben around.”

“Yeah, but you have to want privacy sometimes,” Diego says, because he is an actual idiot who has apparently lost his damn mind. “Like when you’re—”

He doesn’t finish, but that doesn’t stop the self-satisfied smile from curling up Klaus’ mouth. “When I’m what?” he asks, his voice practically a purr.

Diego glares at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I certainly do.” He leans in, the silky wrap shifting across his shoulders. “Looks like _you’re_ the one obsessed with _my_ sex life.”

Diego starts to stammer an argument to that, but Klaus just laughs.

“Ben usually isn’t around when I have sex,” he says. He sounds normal again, like they’re just continuing the conversation, and Diego thinks for about ten seconds that he’s going to get away with saying something so dumb, but then Klaus’ voice goes deep and smooth. “And I told you how to make him go away. You just have to make sure I’m distracted. Or worn out.”

Then he winks. Diego wants to say something, wants to reassure both Klaus and himself that he wasn’t asking for any other reason than morbid curiosity, but Klaus does what he always does and turns away, strutting down the hallway like he knows he’s won.

Diego has no idea what Klaus’ prize is, but he’s starting to think maybe it’s his sanity.

* * *

Diego thinks, for approximately three seconds, about asking Vanya for advice.

Vanya is objectively the only person he knows who would not judge him, who would not laugh at him, and who might actually have input that could potentially be helpful.

But his relationship with Vanya is rocky at best and bad at worst, so until he finally mans up and apologizes, that’s out.

Which means there’s no one to talk to. He can’t ask Allison. Sure, she’s a mom, and she’d probably be willing to coddle him and tell him things aren’t actually that bad, but she also might bring up Luther and that’s the last thing in the world Diego wants to hear about. Five would probably shatter his kneecaps if Diego tried to talk to him. Ben is probably still a pretty good listener, but to talk to him means talking to Klaus, and that’s the exact thing Diego’s trying not to do.

So Diego does what he does best. He broods.

He leaves the house for hours on end under the guise of patrolling, but he’s too distracted to be very useful on the streets, so he spends most of his time wandering aimlessly around the city. The weather starts bad and gets worse, so he’s wet most of the time, which he tries to convince himself is refreshing but is mostly just annoying. And it really sucks, peeling himself out of wet leather whenever he finally creeps back into the house. The straps of his uniform rub his skin raw even through his shirt, which leaves his body riddled with red welts on top of white scars.

He’s examining one of the angrier marks in the mirror, wondering if he should give in and put some ointment on it. It doesn’t hurt much unless he prods at it, but it’s going to be a bitch to put the uniform on over it again in the morning. He could take some time off to let it heal, but he’s never let a little pain stop him before. He could just suck it up, but that feels stubborn and sort of stupid now that the world isn’t ending anymore.

In the end, he decides to find the ointment. It’s late, so he doesn’t think much about leaving his room. All of the lights were off when he broke into his own bedroom window, and it doesn’t look like anything has changed. He creeps down the hallway and into the bathroom, flicking on the light so he can rifle through the medicine cabinet. It’s a weird array of unmarked medication and spare buttons and cheap jewelry and several pairs of tweezers and one tube of cheap lipstick — all of which Diego assumes is Klaus’. There are several bathrooms strewn around the house, one of which is actually closer to Klaus’ room, but Diego specifically remembers Klaus always using this one when they were kids. He used to almost beat the door down in the mornings when Klaus locked himself in and took almost a full hour to put himself together.

Diego wonders how long it takes now. Probably just as long, knowing Klaus, even though he can swipe eyeliner and a few coats of mascara on perfectly even without a mirror. Diego has seen him do it.

There’s a sound somewhere outside the door. Diego stops, holding his breath, listening hard. It’s not Luther — his weight would have tripped that creaky spot outside his door, same as always. And it can’t be Allison, who went to bed early and sleeps like the dead. Maybe Vanya, except that she learned how to make herself essentially invisible as a kid and her silent footsteps generally reflect that. Five doesn’t do much walking, not when he can teleport just as easy, which means —

Yup, that’s Klaus, popping his head around the door. He sees Diego and his whole face relaxes.

“It’s you,” he says. “God, I thought we were being robbed.”

Diego stares at him. “You really thought people were trying to steal three buttons and some lipstick?”

“It’s not lipstick, it’s lipgloss,” Klaus tells him, like that means anything to Diego. He comes into the bathroom, closes the door, and reaches around Diego to pluck out the tube, cracking it open. It shimmers under the light. It would look good on Klaus’ mouth, shiny and pink. “See?” he says. “Gloss. And yes, someone might steal it. You have no idea how much power this stuff has.”

Diego lifts an eyebrow. He shouldn’t encourage Klaus, but he can’t help himself. “Yeah? What’s it do?”

Klaus’ expression shifts, looking pleased by the question. “I’ll show you,” he says, and then he leans in close to the mirror and slicks his lips. The gloss itself looks sort of uncomfortable, sticky and thick, but Diego was right. It does look good on Klaus’ mouth. Klaus rubs his lips together, pouts at his reflection, and then looks at Diego. “See?” His eyes are bright and dancing under the garish yellow-toned bathroom light, just as magnetic as his shiny mouth.

Klaus is taunting him. Klaus is always taunting him, but something about this particular moment rubs Diego the wrong way. “Klaus, what the fuck are you doing?” he asks. He means to sound angry, but he doesn’t. He sounds tired.

Klaus blinks slowly, looking deceptively innocent. “What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop.” Diego reaches out and grabs Klaus by the arm but resists the urge to shake him, just barely. “Just stop.”

Klaus stares at him. “Di? Are you okay?”

Di. Nobody has called him that since he was a kid. He sighs, then lets go of Klaus to shove his hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he says, then adds a belated, unconvincing, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Klaus says in that casually dismissive way of his. He twists the cap back onto the tube of gloss, pops it back into the cabinet and then fishes out a nail file, which he then hops onto the counter and starts to use. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks lightly, examining his thumbnail.

“Talk about what?” Diego asks. He leans his hip against the counter, debating whether Klaus will just follow him if he goes back to his room. All signs point to yes.

“Whatever it is that’s bothering you,” Klaus says, like it’s obvious. He pauses filing to point the file at Diego’s chest. “Or we could talk about why you look like someone attacked you with sandpaper.”

Strangely enough, Diego had forgotten all about his savaged chest, which is weird, considering he only landed himself in this situation by foraging for ointment. This is what he gets for being weak. “It’s just a friction burn,” he mutters.

“Kinky,” Klaus says, like he can’t help himself. Then he resumes filing and adds lightly, “Maybe that’s what you get for never taking off that ridiculous costume.”

“It’s not a —” Diego stops himself. He refuses to have this debate with Klaus of all people. “I do take it off,” he says instead. “It’s off now, isn’t it?”

Klaus looks at him. “Yes,” he says, maintaining eye contact that is viciously suggestive. “It is.”

Diego looks away.

“Why do you always do that?” he asks, which is actually not something he meant to ask at all.

“Do what?” Klaus asks, but he sounds like he knows exactly what Diego is asking.

Diego huffs, glaring at him. “You know what. That… that thing. The flirting. With me.” Christ. Could he sound any more like a child? Next thing he knows, he’ll be stuttering again, and wouldn’t _that_ just be perfect.

Klaus, for his part, doesn’t look like he’s about to laugh in Diego’s face. “You think I flirt with you?” he asks. He sounds sort of surprised, which of course puts a screeching halt to Diego’s train of thought. Shit. Shit, _shit_. There’s no way he can be wrong about this. Is there?

Well. Either way, the damage is done. “Yes,” he says, trying to sound more sure than he feels. “I think you flirt with me.”

“Oh, thank God,” Klaus says, which is not entirely expected. “I was starting to think I had lost my touch. It usually doesn’t take people this long.”

Diego wants to say that he’s thought about this for almost a week now, but that feels like an admission he’s not ready to give.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says instead.

Klaus smiles at him, completely giving up on his nails. He puts the file down. “I flirt with you,” he says, “because it’s fun.”

That’s not an answer. Or, if it is, it’s the worst answer of all time. Diego wants to say this, but then Klaus is sliding off the counter. He’s not even particularly sexy about it, but something about the way Klaus is built means he always looks sort of sensuous, and Diego’s skin starts to itch.

“I flirt with you,” Klaus says again, coming closer, “because you could use a good time.”

Still not an answer. Better, though. Diego can think of exactly how good his time might be, if he got his hands on the sharp curve of those hips. He wonders, wildly and not for the first time, if maybe Klaus can do more than talk to the dead. Wonders if maybe there’s some secret sex magic behind his eyes, his mouth, his hands.

“I flirt with you,” Klaus says once more, standing right in front of Diego. They’re the same height, which means they’re eye-to-eye, and Diego can’t help but get a little lost in that wild green. “Because I think we could have a good time. Together.”

Yeah. Yeah, that’s an answer. That’s a hell of an answer, the best answer Diego could have imagined. Or maybe he’s totally losing the entire thread of this conversation, distracted by the close proximity of Klaus’ wild hair and glossy mouth.

“We could,” Diego agrees, without entirely meaning to.

Klaus smiles again. “Is that a yes?” he asks softly. Something flickers across his face, and he touches Diego’s arm. “We don’t have to. Only if you want.”

Diego tries to actually think past the heat of Klaus’ hand against his bare skin. “If we do this,” he asks quietly, “will anything change?”

Klaus blinks at him. Then blinks again. And then, strangely, he laughs. “Diego,” he says, sounding unbearably fond. “If we do this, _everything_ will change. You’ll be fine for a few days, and then you’ll freak out. You’ll avoid me, and I’ll get upset about it, and we’ll probably fight. And then Allison will bug me about what’s wrong until I give in and tell her everything, and then she’ll tell Luther. Five will already know because Five knows everything. Vanya will be the last to know, but she’ll find out. Things will be weird for awhile, and you’ll flinch every time someone refers to me as your brother, and you’ll mourn the fact that this makes you as fucked up as Luther and Allison.” Klaus pauses, as if to let that sink in, and then continues in a softer, sweeter voice. “But the sex will be good. You won’t think about playing superhero for a few hours, and I’ll get away from my ghosts. I’ll still tease you, and flirt with you, and drive you insane — and not always in a good way. But it will be fun.” He smiles, then, soft and pretty. “I think we could both use some fun.”

Diego can’t help but stare. That’s… that’s the most conscious thought Klaus has put into anything in a long time, as far as Diego knows. It’s flattering, in a way, and also uncomfortable. He wonders when Klaus started to figure him out so easily, and then realizes Klaus has probably had him figured out this whole time. That’s sort of comforting, and sort of scary.

Well, Klaus has always been the scared one. Maybe it’s Diego’s turn.

God, he’s got to stop thinking so much.

He takes a breath, slides his hand into Klaus’ hair, and does the weirdest, most exciting thing he’s ever done.

He kisses Klaus.

* * *

Lipgloss tastes like plastic.

Diego tells Klaus this, because it’s either that or actually confront the fact that he might be a little bit obsessed with Klaus’ mouth already. Klaus laughs and says, “Not all of it. Some is flavored.” And then he kisses Diego again, and well. That’s that.

Diego is pretty sure they’re going to fuck in the bathroom. It just makes sense. He’s there already, and so is Klaus, and they’re both halfway hard. Leaving together is just asking to run into someone else in the hallway, and if there’s a faster way to kill his boner than that, Diego can’t think of it.

But maybe Klaus is into getting caught, or maybe he just doesn’t care, because he takes Diego by the hand and leads Diego out in the dark. If he were thinking straight, Diego would have assumed Klaus would take them to his own room — but he would have been wrong. Klaus lets himself into Diego’s bedroom like he owns the place, and Diego would be sort of embarrassed about all the clothes strewn about the floor except that Klaus tosses himself onto the bed without a single glance around.

He looks deceptively good in Diego’s bed. He smiles and props himself up on his elbows, like maybe he already knows that. “You’re not nearly naked enough,” he says.

Diego stares at him. “You have more clothes on than I do.”

Klaus waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but this isn’t about me.”

Diego raises an eyebrow. “It’s not?”

Klaus shakes his head. “This is about you,” he says with finality, and then he slides to the edge of the bed so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of Diego’s sweats, coaxing him closer.

Having Klaus look up at him like that is almost enough to make Diego sweat. “I don’t know,” he says, trying to sound cool and confident and most likely failing. “You seem pretty into it, too.”

Klaus scoffs. “Of course I’m into it. Have you _seen_ yourself?”

Diego doesn’t even pretend not to be pleased by that. He bends, holding Klaus’ face in his hands to keep him still long enough for a kiss, and then slides his hands down to the bottom of Klaus’ nightshirt. Klaus bites his lip, and then they part, panting. Diego pulls his shirt up and off, which leaves them on much more even ground, except that Diego is now alarmingly distracted by the fact that Klaus is not only in his bed but is, in fact, _half naked_.

Klaus seems to notice that his last few brain cells have powered down, because he grins and starts to tug Diego’s sweatpants down. Diego doesn’t try to fight him. He doesn’t _want_ to fight him. He just obediently steps out of them and then climbs onto the bed, propping up on his elbows, boxing Klaus in between his arms. Klaus seems _thrilled_ by this, if the way his expression goes a little slack is any indication. He touches one of Diego’s arms reverently. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “That’s nice.” It’s less eloquent than Diego expects, which of course makes him proud. He did that. He struck Klaus dumb. Wow, that’s nice. Something to brag about, even, if there was one single person he could comfortably talk about this to.

He’s hard. Harder than he should be, probably, considering Klaus hasn’t even really touched him yet. He would be embarrassed about that, except then he slots his thigh between Klaus’ legs and Klaus gives a soft keen, rubbing up like he can’t help himself. His breath gets shaky, and his eyes are sort of unfocused. He looks… weirdly enough, he looks high. Diego wonders if maybe that means the ghosts are gone, but that only reminds him that their dead brother might still be hanging around, accidentally getting a front-row seat to the show.

He kisses Klaus again, mostly so he can stop thinking about that.

“Have you done this before?” Klaus asks, muffled against Diego’s mouth.

Diego pulls back. “Have I ever fucked one of my siblings?” he asks, tone somewhere between wry and exasperated. “Can’t say I have.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Klaus says. “Have you ever fucked a man?”

Diego closes one eye, pretending to think. “Nah,” he says eventually. “Can’t say I’ve done that, either.”

Klaus doesn’t look surprised by that. “We need lube,” he announces, and then casts a hopeful glance around, like some will magically appear in the bed.

“I don’t have lube,” Diego tells him.

Klaus’ face crinkles. “What do you use to jerk off with?” he asks, sounding sort of hesitant about it, like he already knows he’s not going to like the answer.

Diego pauses. “…spit?”

Those tiny judgmental lines in Klaus’ face deepen. “I hate straight men,” he sighs, almost to himself.

Diego raises an eyebrow, then reaches between them, sliding his hand into Klaus’ underwear and holding his cock for the first time. Klaus gives an almighty gasp and falls back against the bed, reaching down with both hands to grip Diego’s wrist. Diego smirks at him. “Not totally straight, now am I?”

“Totally an asshole,” Klaus hisses, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it, considering the way his hips are flexing into Diego’s hand.

“You already knew that,” Diego says, and then he kisses Klaus to shut him up, because their banter is generally pretty endless and Diego’s more interested in other things.

Klaus, who is very clearly not on the same page, pulls away.

“You’re not fucking me with just spit,” he announces, looking very staunch about it.

Diego rolls his eyes. “I’m not planning on it. Just trust me, would you?”

Klaus shuts his mouth, but he looks sort of suspicious about it. Diego ignores him, more invested in working his underwear down his hips. Klaus plants his feet into the mattress and lifts up to make the process easier, and Diego rewards him for this by wriggling down the bed and licking the head of his dick.

“Jesus,” Klaus hisses. His fingers sink into Diego’s hair and grip hard. “Warn a guy!”

Diego lifts his head. “Klaus,” he says, very flatly. “I’m going to suck your dick now.”

Klaus stares at him. “Do you even know how to suck a dick?” he asks, somewhere between curious and mocking.

“Sure,” he says. “Use lots of teeth.” And then he sinks his mouth down onto Klaus, who seizes up and yelps like Diego actually bit him. Diego can’t help but laugh, and it’s weird-sounding where it’s distorted by the… well, by the dick in his mouth.

Truth is, Diego has done this a couple of times. He had been much younger then, and looking for any possible way to act out just to see if anyone would care. No one had, but it had been fun. And he’d come out of it with a few handy tricks, like the one where he presses his tongue into the slit just to watch Klaus’ stomach muscles jump.

“Oh, fuck,” Klaus says, almost to himself. His hand, still on Diego’s head, tightens and then relaxes, like he suddenly realizes he’s about to yank Diego’s hair out at the root. “Sorry,” he mumbles, slurred-sounding. “You’re just— _fuck_.”

Diego doesn’t think he’s doing anything particularly spectacular, but the validation is nice. He sinks down further, then further still. Klaus’ dick isn’t huge, but it’s still a dick, and when it hits the back of Diego’s throat, he gags. Klaus makes a heartbroken noise, the muscles in his legs going taut where they’re braced near Diego’s shoulders.

“Please don’t make me come like this,” Klaus says, his voice more high-pitched than usual. Diego doesn’t know whether Klaus is talking to him or to God. “I’m not ready to come yet.”

Diego has to pull off because he starts to laugh. “There’s not an orgasm limit,” he tells him, voice thick. “I can always just make you come again.”

Klaus shivers against the sheets. He’s staring at Diego like he has completely lost his bearings. He reaches down and thumbs over Diego’s mouth, saying “You have dick sucking lips,” sounding rather surprised.

“You sound like a lunatic,” Diego tells him, but it’s kind of endearing.

“I think I’m high,” Klaus admits dreamily. He looks like it, too, his eyes unfocused and his face full of color.

Diego stops smiling. “ _Are_ you high?” he demands. It’s kind of a ridiculous question. Diego would have noticed before now. Then again, he’s been sort of distracted.

Klaus blinks at him. “No,” he says. Then he hesitates. “I’ve never fucked sober before, actually.”

Oh. “Really?”

Klaus nods.

That’s… well, that’s a lot more responsibility than Diego was prepared for. “I’m sorry if it sucks,” he says, because that’s the only thing he can think of.

Klaus laughs. “It doesn’t,” he says, touching Diego’s cheek. “It doesn’t at all.”

He says it so sweetly, so sincerely, that Diego can’t help but slide up to kiss him. Klaus clutches him close, hooking his arms around Diego’s shoulders and his leg around Diego’s hip, pushing his erection against Diego’s through Diego’s underwear. “So much for using my mouth,” Diego says, but he’s not particularly upset about it. It’s just as nice, getting to see Klaus’ face up close when he ruts up and his expression goes totally slack.

“I _am_ using your mouth,” Klaus says, and then kisses Diego again as if to prove it.

“Don’t you want to come?” Diego asks. It’s a genuine question, but his voice does this weird thing that makes it sound like a taunt. Klaus whines, pushing against his leg.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, I wanna come.” Klaus looks at him through his ridiculous lashes. “Are you gonna make me come?”

“Are you going to keep stopping me?” Diego asks, and then rolls off Klaus entirely. Klaus makes a sharp, incredulous noise, grabbing for him, but he’s not strong enough to bodily move Diego where he wants him. Diego smirks at him, surreptitiously flexing just to watch Klaus get distracted by it.

“You are such a tool,” Klaus announces, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it.

“Yeah,” Diego agrees. “Roll onto your side.”

Klaus opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then seems to decide against it, rolling over instead, facing the door. There’s more than enough room between his body and the wall for Diego to slide in behind him, spooning up against his body. “Good boy,” he says, mouth pressed behind Klaus’ ear.

“You sound stupid,” Klaus tells him, but Diego doesn’t believe him because he feels the full-body way Klaus shivers about it.

“You should probably be nice to me,” Diego tells him. “I am about to make you come, you know.”

“Yet to be seen,” Klaus says sourly. And then he inhales, loud and ragged, when Diego reaches around to pinch his nipple. “ _Dick_ ,” he gasps.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. His voice sounds casual, even as he pushes his boxers down and fists his own erection, pushing it up against the small of Klaus’ back.

Klaus squirms against him. “Wanna see,” he says.

“Later,” Diego tells him firmly. “Just… let me, okay?”

Miracle of miracles, Klaus listens. He goes still, not moving even when Diego rubs up against him from behind. “Please,” he whispers.

“I’ve got you,” Diego assures him. “Spread your legs.”

Klaus can’t actually do that very well, lying on his side, but he makes just enough space for Diego to slot his dick between his thighs. It’s dry, and tighter than Diego expected when Klaus squeezes his legs together, but he’s so turned on that his precome smoothes the friction after a couple of thrusts. Diego doesn’t put a lot of power behind them at first, but then Klaus arches back and says _please_ , more desperately than before, and Diego can’t help himself. He starts a rhythm, smooth and deep, breathing heavily where he has his nose pushed into Klaus’ sweaty hairline.

“You feel so good,” he says, voice ragged. “Can’t imagine what it’s like to actually be inside you.”

“Next time,” Klaus whimpers. “Please, Diego.”

“Next time,” Diego agrees, and then he reaches around to hold Klaus’ dick in his hand. Diego doesn’t stroke him with any real intent, so Klaus starts moving his hips with purpose, which only makes fucking his thighs feel more like the real thing. His muscles go taut when he pushes forward, and when Diego rubs his thumb around the head, his whole body stiffens up so tightly that Diego can barely fuck him right.

“This is so stupid,” Klaus says, sounding sort of hysterical. There’s something high and wavering in his voice, like he’s about to crack right open. “I haven’t done it like this since I was a _teenager_ , it’s not supposed to _feel this good_ , what the _fuck_.”

“You fucked like this when we were teenagers?” Diego asks, hips slowing.

Klaus makes an annoyed noise. “Will you please focus?”

Diego tightens his hand in response. All of the air punches out of Klaus’ chest so fast it sounds like a sob, and he reaches back, gripping Diego’s hair.

“Fuck me,” he says. “Please fuck me.”

Diego could tell him no, but he doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t. He thrusts harder instead, hips shoving strongly into Klaus, and somehow manages to keep moving his hand. Klaus makes a series of sharp noises — _ah, ah, ah!_ — that sound like they’re being fucked out of him. And then he says Diego’s name. Fuck. Diego’s going to come. He tightens his hand.

“Please don’t stop,” Klaus begs. “Please be nice to me for once in your life and don’t fucking stop.”

“I’m always nice to you,” Diego says, affronted.

“We need to work on your definition of nice,” Klaus gasps, and then he scratches his nails through Diego’s hair, tightens his thighs around Diego’s dick, and comes.

“Fuck,” Diego bites out, stroking Klaus through it. “Way to warn a guy.” He has just enough time to feel proud of himself for not coming first before his orgasm sucker-punches straight through him. He groans sharply and then gives a handful of fervent thrusts, riding it out between Klaus’ legs.

They lie together for awhile afterward, tangled up and breathing hard, and then Klaus stretches out, accidentally squeezing Diego’s soft dick between his thighs. “Sorry,” he says when Diego hisses, but he doesn’t sound very apologetic. He sounds satisfied. Diego can deal with that.

He pulls away from Klaus and tucks himself back into his boxers. Klaus fishes his shirt off the floor and wipes Diego’s come from between his legs and his own come off his stomach, and then he turns over to face Diego.

“That was nice,” he says.

Diego raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Just nice?”

Klaus nods. “Five out of ten.”

Diego stares at him.

He finally cracks a smile. “I’m holding the rest of your rating hostage. You get a perfect score when you buy some lube.”

“Why do I have to buy the lube?” Diego demands.

“Because I’m letting you fuck me,” Klaus says without missing a beat. “If _I_ buy the lube, I get to fuck _you_.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Diego says faintly, because he’s not entirely opposed to the sudden idea of Klaus fucking him and he doesn’t know how to process that.

“It works however I say it works,” Klaus tells him. He closes his eyes, looking very much like he fully intends to sleep. Diego is just about to push him out of bed and into the shower when his eyes pop open again. “Hey, I have a question.”

Diego pretends to wince. “I really hate it when you say that.”

Klaus grins but goes on. “There’s not, like, a reason you wouldn’t let me see it, right?” He glances down between them, zeroing in on the front of Diego’s boxers. “It’s not really small, is it?”

Diego stares at him. “You just felt it. Did it feel small?”

“Well.” Klaus considers this. “No.”

Diego tries not to feel too pleased about that.

“You don’t have anything crazy going on down there, do you?” Klaus asks. “Cause I gotta tell you, Luther really exhausted my patience for weird anatomy reveals and I just don’t know if I can go through that again.”

Diego doesn’t regret sleeping with Klaus, but it’s becoming a pretty close call. “Klaus?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to make you sleep on the floor.”

Klaus scoffs. “Like I’d let that happen. I do have my own bed, you know.” But he shifts close enough that they’re cuddling even by the loosest of standards. Diego tosses an arm around him. He doesn’t usually like this part, but Klaus smells nice and seems too tired to annoy Diego too much.

They lie in silence for awhile. Diego is trying to work up the motivation to take a shower. Klaus is… well, there’s never any telling what’s going on inside Klaus’ brain.

It’s never good, though, when his face lights up like that. “Wait,” he says, sounding breathlessly excited, like he just cracked an ancient code. “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got _what_?” Diego asks, even though he knows he’s going to regret asking.

Klaus’ grin is wide and bright. “It’s curved, isn’t it? Your dick, I mean. Like, weirdly curved? Because of your power?”

Diego stares at him for a long time, and then he shoves Klaus right out of the bed. Klaus laughs loudly enough to wake up the whole house. Diego shushes him sharply, pretending to be annoyed, but he’s pretty sure neither of them miss the way he smiles the whole time.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic with the sole intention of writing the mannequin conversation. Don't ask me where the extra 8k of pining and porn came from.


End file.
